Dancing with the dads

OPINION: I'm devastated that Dancing With The Stars finishes next week.

Once upon a glittery time, Monday and Sunday nights were two evenings of shiny outfits and even shinier abs. Each show, I joined forces with thousands of middle-class, middle-aged ladies up and down the country, collectively sat in front of screens downing too many savs and vowing to take up professional ballroom dancing and aggressive fake tanning.

But we all know those dreams will soon fade like two-day-old Bondi Sands Liquid Glow, and I'll be astounded if I make it to community hall zumba, let alone competitive salsa.

I'm not just mourning the loss of my glitter ball fantasies. See, there's something else that Dancing With the Stars has done wonders for, besides moustaches and 1960s ice-skater chic.

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It's put men like my dad on screen. I don't mean my dad is a competitive ballroom dancer. I've seen Dad dance once, at my brother's wedding, and when I say dance I mean he bobbed up and down on the spot........